


Wait for Me to Come Home

by Gort



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Baby, Canon Compliant, Cuddling, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Missing Scenes, terrible hats
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-22
Updated: 2019-03-22
Packaged: 2019-11-27 22:50:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18200069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gort/pseuds/Gort
Summary: Bobbi isn’t one for patience, but she’s learning. Navigating the choppy waters of her relationship with Hunter was never going to be easy. Snapshots of Huntingbird over the years.Beta'd by Sunalso





	Wait for Me to Come Home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lazyfish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazyfish/gifts).



> Written for the Most Wanted Fic Exchange 2019 for Al, who is a treasure.

 

It’s late.

She’s late.

Bobbi knows this, but it couldn’t be helped. What had been a three-day mission had turned into a week-long tour of all the seediest areas of Rio tracking down a SHIELD asset who hadn’t wanted to be found. Her phone had ended up in the sewer at some point, and while she’s new to this whole marriage thing, she’s pretty sure four days of no contact is pushing it.

Unlocking the apartment door, she opens it, trying not to make too much noise in case Hunter’s asleep. He’s not. At least, not anymore. She drops her duffle to the floor as he jerks upright from where he was sprawled on the couch, his eyes bloodshot and his hair sticking up in a hundred different directions.

“Bob?”

He slurs her name, which shouldn’t really be possible, since it’s one syllable, and the tension in Bobbi’s shoulders, which had been starting to unwind, ratchets right back up again. Great. He’s drunk, which means this is going to turn into a fight.

“Hunter,” she says, trying to keep her voice even. She drops her keys on a nearby table and shrugs out of her jacket, her eyes sweeping the room. Curiously, it seems neater than usual, and there isn’t any sign of the empty beer bottles she’d expect if he’d been drinking enough to pass out in the living room.

“Where the hell have you been?” Hunter gets up from the couch, his eyes wild. “It’s been four bloody days!”

Bobbi makes a concerted effort to unclench her jaw. She’s so tired. The debriefing had taken hours, and all she’d wanted was to come home and climb into bed, tuck herself up next to Hunter’s sleepy warmth, and remember all the reasons she did this damn job in the first place. “I lost my phone.”

“You lost your…” Hunter takes a step, steadying himself against the couch before straightening up again. “Did you ever think I might be losing my goddamn mind? You were supposed to be home days ago! I’ve been waiting…waiting for-” He breaks off, rubbing his face, and this close Bobbi can see his eyes aren’t glassy and unfocused like she expects them to be. He doesn’t smell like alcohol either, although his clothes are rumpled, and his hands are shaking.

“Lance,” she says carefully. “When was the last time you slept?”

He laughs, and the brittleness of it makes her worry he’s about to shatter like glass. “Sleep?” he asks, sounding incredulous. “You think I could sleep when I thought you…when I imagined my wife was…while I was waiting for some government goon to show up at our door to tell me you weren’t coming home?”

She can’t get any words past the lump in her throat, so she simply steps forward and wraps her arms around him. He’s standing stiffly, but his hands come to rest on her hips and his head drops to her shoulder. His rasping, uneven breaths are loud in her ear. “I’m home now,” she finally says. Maybe she should apologize, but she can’t control every aspect of her missions. Hunter, of all people, knows this.

Still, her words are enough to make him relax, the rigidness of his back slowly easing as he sags forward, and she braces herself to keep them from falling over. She slides a hand into his hair and breathes him in as his arms curl around her waist. “Christ, Bob,” he chokes out.

“Let’s get to bed,” she says. Hunter doesn’t move. “Babe.”

“Hm?” He lifts his head, his eyes bleary and red-rimmed and so full of love it takes her breath away.

Sometimes, when he looks at her unguarded, she can feel herself falling further, her heart tumbling into an abyss from which there is no return. It’s probably the most frightening thing she’s ever experienced, and she’s gone through torture training.

“Bed,” she says again, gently. She manages to get him moving, and they shuffle through the bedroom door, still tangled together. The mattress looks like heaven, but Bobbi knows Hunter’s going to overheat in two seconds flat in what he’s wearing, and then she’ll spend what’s left of the night sweating her ass off beside him.

Luckily, she’s always enjoyed undressing him.

“Up,” she says, tugging on the hem of his shirt, and Hunter obediently lifts his arms as she strips it off. His head lolls against her shoulder as she unzips his pants, and she has to nudge him back again to push them down off his hips. He falls onto the bed gracelessly, his eyes closed, as she peels off his pants and socks. He drags a pillow down to stuff under his head while she shimmies out of her own clothes.

“Bob,” he murmurs as she crawls onto the bed and collapses beside him. He rolls over just far enough to sling an arm and a leg over her, and Bobbi would never, ever say it out loud, but this is where she feels safest.

***

He’s not home.

Bobbi drops her duffle next to the door and chucks her keys at the table, annoyed. Here she is, mission completed early for once, and Hunter isn’t even around to appreciate it. They’d had a fight before she left, the same fight they always had, and she’d been hoping wrapping up ahead of schedule might earn her some measure of forgiveness.

“Hunter?” she calls, just in case, but the apartment has an air of emptiness, and his jacket’s not hanging by the door. She flips on lights as she heads for the bedroom, thinking at least she’ll have time for a long bath to ease the new bruises she’s sporting when she notices something odd out of the corner of her eye.

Taking a step back, Bobbi turns on the kitchen light. Her eyebrows shoot up at the collection of firearms on the kitchen table, all in various stages of assembly. What the hell made Hunter decide to clean all their guns at once, and then stop in the middle of it? She stands very still, holding her breath, but there’s not a sound out of place.

Carefully, Bobbi pulls out one of her batons and creeps toward the bedroom, listening intently. Nothing looks disturbed, but she’s not taking any chances. After a quick inspection of the closet, she frowns at the narrow space between the floor and the bed. One of the boxes they’d stored under it is peeking out. Bobbi drops down, but there’s no one hiding there, either. Idly, she pulls the box out all the way and opens it.

For a minute, all she can do is stare. It’s absolutely filled with ammunition. Some still in boxes, some loose, rolling across the bottom, all the calibers they keep on hand. That’s not what’s making her pulse race, though. She reaches in and gently dislodges a photo half-hidden under a pile of 9mm shells.

It’s a wedding picture. There weren’t many, and even fewer they’d bothered to print, but she’d recognize them anywhere. Hunter’s smile looks ready to take over his face, and she’s laughing hard enough that her eyes are closed. Bobbi sets it aside and pulls out the next one, then another. They’re all in here, mixed in with the hodgepodge pile of bullets, and why the hell would Hunter…

Oh.

Bobbi fumbles for her phone, trying to remember how many weapons were on the kitchen table, and scrolls through her contact list, hitting send.

“Come on, come on,” she mutters as the phone rings.

“Bobbi?” a surprised voice answers.

“Izzy,” Bobbi says, her heart in her throat. “Is Hunter with you?”

“No.” Izzy sounds puzzled. “Why?”

“Do you know where he might be?” Bobbi asks, unable to keep the worry out of her voice.

“You two have another blow-up?”

Bobbi swallows thickly. “Something like that.”

There’s a pause. “I know where to look. You stay put in case he turns up.”

Slumping back against the bed, Bobbi puts her head on her hand. The wedding photos mock her from the floor. “Thanks.”

She goes through the motions of unpacking, and then carefully finishes cleaning and reassembling the guns before stowing them away. They all seem to be accounted for, which eases her concern slightly. She distracts herself by sorting the ammunition from their photos, and she also puts on, then takes off, her jacket and shoes at least a half dozen times. Izzy’s right. Someone needs to hold down the fort, and Hunter’s a lot less likely to pick a fight with Izzy when she shows up to pry him out of whatever bar he’s in.

God, that better be where he is.

After an agonizingly long time, there’s the sound of the key in the lock, and Bobbi bolts over to the door, yanking it open.

“Found him,” Izzy says. Bobbi slumps against the door frame, relief filling her, and takes stock of the disheveled mess that is her husband.

“’Lo, Barbara,” Hunter drawls. He’s swaying, one arm looped around Izzy’s shoulders, and he smells like a brewery. “Here I am, came running when you called like a good boy.”

Izzy rolls her eyes. “Remind him when he sobers up that he owes me for settling his tab.” Her expression softens. “Call if you need anything.”

Bobbi hears the unspoken offer of a sympathetic ear, but it’s one she and Izzy both know she won’t accept. There’s only one way to untangle the mess Bobbi’s made of her life by dragging Hunter into it, but she’s not ready to say goodbye. Not yet. “Thanks for bringing him home,” she says, reaching for Hunter. Izzy nudges him forward, and he falls heavily against Bobbi, his breath sour. She wrinkles her nose as Izzy gives them a salute and leaves, closing the door behind her. “What the hell, Lance?”

“What the hell, Bob?” he mimics as she drags him toward the bathroom. There is no way she’s sleeping next to him when he smells like this, and she’s been looking forward to sharing their bed for days.

She props him against the wall by the shower and starts the water, turning to catch him as he tries to slide to the floor. She strips him quickly and efficiently, then herself, and piles her hair up on top of her head before she drags him into the shower. He hisses as the water hits them, and she quickly adjusts it until it’s just shy of cool. His skin is hot, and his eyelids are drooping. Whatever he’d been drinking, he’d been at it for a while.

“Thought you were tired of dealing with me?” Hunter slurs as Bobbi picks up the soap.

She sighs. “Hunter, please, I don’t want to fight.” He’s silent as she washes him, bubbles sliding down his skin. “What happened with the guns?” she finally asks.

His expression changes like quicksilver, smugness turning to anguish, and his head falls back against the tile wall. He stares up at the ceiling, and she washes one arm from shoulder to fingertips before he speaks. “It’s all gone wrong, Bob. Why can’t we fix it?”

She doesn’t have to ask what he means. “I don’t know.”

“I love you so damn much,” he chokes out as Bobbi concentrates on rinsing the soap off his chest. “Why isn’t it enough?”

Tears press at the back of her eyes. “I don’t know,” she says again. It’s an entirely inadequate response, but it’s the only one she has.

He closes his eyes and she runs her fingertips along his jawline before shutting off the water. He’s quiet as she towels them dry, and stays quiet when she puts him to bed, sliding in after him and curling up against his back. It isn’t long before his breathing evens out and his body finally relaxes.

“I wish it were enough, too,” she whispers.

***

The ceiling swims as Bobbi opens her eyes, but she fights down nausea and, miraculously, manages to focus. Every breath hurts. It takes her longer than she’d like to remember where she is, and why she’s there.

Bobbi turns her head, even that small movement painful, and finds Hunter hunched over in an uncomfortable chair with his head against the wall and his mouth hanging open as he sleeps. She hopes he’s not a figment of her pain meds. She’s caught some of his rant while swimming in and out of consciousness over the last however long it’s been, but no matter how many times he tells her that was the stupidest thing she’s ever done, she’ll never regret taking that bullet for him.

His head jerks like he can sense her watching, and she drinks in the sight of his eyelashes fluttering as he wakes up. He’s alive. That’s what matters.

“You’re here,” she whispers, her throat sore and her voice scratchy.

He leans forward to take her hand, but already she can feel her energy ebbing. “I’m here,” he says.

Snippets of memory float through her mind, and she wonders if they’ve had this conversation before. “Are we going home soon?” That’s not quite what she meant to say, but the sentiment seems to be the right one because it makes him smile.

“It’ll be a little while, I think.”

“Oh.” Bobbi’s struggling to keep her eyes open now, and she can see that Hunter’s tired too. “I miss sleeping next to you,” she yawns.

“Do you?” He sounds surprised, and Bobbi frowns. If her eyelids weren’t so damn heavy, she’d be able to check and see if he’s teasing.

“Of course,” she mumbles. “I always miss you.”

“How come I never heard about this before you decided to get yourself shot?”

Bobbi smiles, or at least, she thinks she does. “It’s a secret.”

He brushes a kiss across her temple, and she purses her lips, waiting, until he kisses her mouth, too. It’s just the barest touch, but it’s enough for now. She can feel sleep creeping over her again, like a tail she can’t quite shake. “I’ll be here,” he murmurs, and Bobbi gives in, sinking into blackness. They’ll have more time later.

He’s alive.

***

The windows are open, and the call to prayer has just started when Hunter comes banging into the room, his hands full of takeout boxes. “Kebabs,” he announces cheerfully.

 Bobbi lifts an eyebrow. “Didn’t we have those for lunch? And dinner yesterday?”

“Can I help that there’s a kebab shop on every corner? How else are we supposed to find the best one?”

Bobbi smiles for the first time in days, and it feels stiff and uneven on her face. Hunter’s inability to take anything seriously is both infuriating and one of her favorite things, and right now it’s exactly what she needs. He smiles back, the shadows under his eyes dark and his scruff nearly an actual beard, but he’s here, and that’s enough.

He drops the boxes on a rickety table shoved against the wall and grabs one, opening it as he comes to stand next to her. The breeze is nice, and she opens her mouth when he offers her a bite, watching out the window as she chews.

“Still there?” he says.

“Getting his shoes shined for the third time today,” Bobbi confirms. It’s been ten days since they left Russia. Ten days since they were disavowed, and she still feels off-kilter. At least watching the idiots sent to watch them gives her something to do.

“I feel like I should be insulted. They’re clearly not sending their best.”

“Where’s the other one?” Bobbi asks, opening her mouth and nudging his shoulder for more kebab.

Hunter obliges her, and the bright flavors burst on her tongue. “I lost him at the kebab shop. He forgot to keep the second door in his line of sight. I’m sure he’ll turn up in a bit.” Hunter takes another bite of kebab, humming approvingly. “This one’s my favorite so far, I think.”

“You’ve liked all of them.”

“You haven’t though.” Beneath his humor, she hears real concern, and instead of deflecting it, she lets it settle into her bones, wrapping it around herself like a blanket. His presence feels inevitable, like the world was sick and tired of her pretending his name wasn’t branded on her heart, so it took everything away but him.

She lays her head on his shoulder and Hunter puts the takeout box down, sliding a hand down her arm in a silent question. “Do you think we should get married again?” she asks.

“Are you proposing?” Hunter says, sounding amused.

Bobbi wrinkles her nose. “It’s just a question.”

Hunter sighs and grabs one of the other takeout boxes before directing her towards the bed. His expression is unreadable, which means he’s trying to figure out how to answer without pissing her off, and her heart sinks. He props himself up against the headboard and tugs her down to sit with him, tucking her back against his chest between the vee of his legs. He flips open the takeout box beside them. “I brought you something else.”

Bobbi leans against him and peers at the mush inside the box. “What is it?”

“Pudding,” Hunter says triumphantly. He brandishes a spoon and digs in as Bobbi almost smiles again.  

They share the pudding for several quiet minutes before he answers her original question. “We’ve got enough to sort out right now.” She tips her head back so she can see his face. He doesn’t sound upset or sad, just thoughtful. “I think I’ve made it pretty clear you’re not getting rid of me anytime soon, and if getting married again is something you want, we can talk about it.” He pauses to lick the back of the spoon and heat begins to pool between her thighs.

She snuggles back against him and he puts the takeout box on the nightstand, holding her tight. Bobbi bites her lip. “But do you want to?”

“Bob,” Hunter murmurs, kissing her throat while his hands sneak up under the front of her shirt. “I promise, if you ask, I will say yes.”

“If I ask?”

“I asked last time. It’s your turn.”  

Bobbi lets out a startled laugh. “Fair,” she concedes. She shifts, reaching up to hook an arm around his neck and pulling him in for a kiss. “Want to ditch those idiots outside tomorrow and see how long it takes them to find us again?”

“I love you,” Hunter says fervently.

This time, her smile comes easily. “Love you too.”

***

“On your six,” Hunter says in her ear. “Love the dress.”

“Please tell me you’re not wearing a fedora,” Bobbi murmurs under her breath. She pauses to rummage through her tote, pulling out a guidebook to Buenos Aires and looking for the nearest street signs. Down the block, Hunter is lounging at a table in front of an outdoor café, with a white porcelain cup in front of him and a straw monstrosity perched on his head.

“I am,” he says, sounding pleased with himself. “Got it at the market this morning.”

“You look like an idiot.”

“What does that make you, then?”

Bobbi flips through her guidebook and frowns in concentration. Her tote bag slips down to dangle in the crook of her elbow. “In love with an idiot. And stop staring at me.”

“Sweetheart, you’re showing so much leg it’d be more suspicious if I wasn’t staring.”

“It’s not that short.”

“I dare you to drop something. Ten pesos says you cause a traffic accident when you bend over.”

A long-suffering sigh blasts through her earpiece. “ _Amigos_ , please,” Santiago says. “Can we catch these thieves?”

“Where are they?”  Bobbi says, trying to hide her smile.

“Still behind you. One’s loitering by the newsstand and there’s another by the bodega. Try heading up the alley toward the church,” Hunter says. “How many are we looking for again?”

“ _Tres_ ,” Santiago supplies.

Bobbi slips her guidebook back into her tote, closing her hand around one of her batons as she veers left and walks up the narrow street toward the church. She can hear footsteps behind her. “You’ve got two,” Hunter says through the earpiece. “The other one’s circling the block. I’ll take him. Hey, do you want empanadas for dinner?”

“Actually, I’ve been dying for a steak,” Bobbi says. Santiago is grumbling under his breath, but she ignores him. These thieves are amateurs and Hunter’s watching her back. She’s not worried.

“Steak it is.”

The footsteps behind her get closer and Bobbi pauses to look back, giving her would-be thieves a smile. “Is this the way to _Fundación Proa_?” she asks, butchering the pronunciation. The two men nod, coming within arms-reach. One grabs for her tote and looks confused when she lets it go without a fight. She spins her batons once. “Surprise,” she says cheerfully.  

Hunter is chuckling in her ear and her adrenaline is flowing as she takes down their targets in the bright Argentinean sunshine. Santiago is directing someone to her position, and she hears Hunter sign off just as the _policia_ come around the corner.

Bobbi picks up her tote bag, quickly stowing away her batons, and tries to look dismayed. “ _Ladrón_ ,” she says dramatically. The police seem a lot more concerned with getting the men on the ground hustled off and out of the sight of tourists than figuring out how they came to be lying there in the first place, and it isn’t long before Bobbi is collecting her fee from a grateful Santiago.

The walk back the apartment she’s sharing with Hunter is short, and the sun is warm on her shoulders. She stops for a moment, staring up at the cloudless blue sky, and suddenly it hits her.

She’s happy.

Really, truly, happy, in a way she hadn’t known was possible. Smiling, Bobbi climbs the stairs of their building. The smell of steak cooking wafts out as she opens the front door, and she takes a deep breath. “Bob?” Hunter pokes his head out of the kitchen. “Good, dinner’s almost ready.” He disappears again, and she drops her tote by the door, kicking off her shoes before wandering into the kitchen. Hunter glances over his shoulder. “Want to eat on the roof?” he asks.

She nods, and steps closer, grasping one of his hands. He seems to sense her mood, and turns fully, pulling her close. His free hand slides over her ass and tugs on the hem of her dress. “Tonight, it’s you, me, and this dress.” He pauses. “And the hat.”

Bobbi laughs and leans into his embrace. “No hat.”

“Only the hat,” he says, his eyes gleaming wickedly.

“Lance,” she says, planting a kiss on his lips.

“Bob.”

“Would you like to marry me?”

Hunter pulls back, and she sees surprise flash across his face before he’s looking at her in that way he has, like he can see all the pieces of her and loves her anyway. It makes her heart skip a beat. “I would love to,” he says.

Bobbi’s smile is so wide her cheeks ache.

***

“Bob?”

The sound of Hunter’s voice makes her want to cry, it’s so welcome. She’s tired and achy and sick of sleeping in their bed alone. It doesn’t take him long to find them, because where else would she be but the nursery, endlessly rocking.

“Hey.” Hunter comes through the doorway in his stocking feet and crosses the room. Bobbi tips her head up to receive his kiss and then he drops down to a crouch in front of her. On cue, the bundle in her arms stirs, fussing, and she watches Hunter’s face light up as he reaches for the baby.

Their baby.

Although at the moment she’s more than happy to relinquish rocking duty. “Is someone not sleeping well?” he asks, cradling the tiny human they’d somehow been gifted with. It still feels unreal to Bobbi, like someone is going to tell her there’s been a mistake, that she and Hunter couldn’t possibly have created something so perfect.

“We missed you,” she says, stifling a yawn. Leaning forward, she props her head against Hunter’s shoulder. The baby makes a gurgling noise, waves a tiny fist, and yawns too.

“Mack’s quick little nothing of a mission was anything but.”

“I’m glad you’re back.”

Hunter strokes her cheek. “Me too. Come on, we all need some rest.” He spends a moment murmuring to the baby, his voice so quiet Bobbi can’t hear what he’s saying though she can guess. He whispers things into her hair late at night in the same loving tone.

Gently, he settles the baby into the crib and comes back for Bobbi, pulling her out of the rocking chair. They shuffle down the hall and she stretches out on the bed as Hunter strips off his clothes before crawling in beside her. “Here,” he says, opening his arms, and she gratefully curls up against him, tucking her head against his shoulder.

Bobbi sighs, finally relaxing as she breathes him in. She’s home.


End file.
